#CleanWIP Emily turned to find her traveling companion smiling at her. “Jessica! I thought you went home with your sister.” Jessica’s presence could jeopardize Emily’s job at the ranch. The longer her friend stayed in town, the more likely Clint would discover Emily’s secret.

Timothy sat up rigidly, and she saw him trying to hide disappointment. “I only want your friendship. I’m not asking you to neglect your duties. I only want the chance to—to—not be alone.”#CleanWIPTheme: Friend

He was only making this harder. I’d not be here when he was master. Even his friendship wasn’t worth my freedom. And if I wasn’t a servant, what would I be? A craftsman? The tzar’s law didn’t allow me to become anything higher. I had no future here. #cleanWIP (friend)

#CleanWIP (theme FRIEND)“You have proved your loyalty in every way, and everyone on the council trusts you. Me, most of all.” Dolan softened his voice. “Dragon’s eggs, Jason, you’ve been a friend and brother to me these last four years.”

#CleanWIP (theme PLAN)Joy twirled around and sat in the empty chair before kissing her brother’s forehead. “I hope I shall have a dozen children. Six boys and six girls.”“Sounds you and Bennet plan to single-handedly populate Castle Frankland, is that it?” Gwendolyn laughed.

He created, then dismissed several plans until he came up with something half-baked, but plausible. If he could get near the edge of the pier, and loosen the rope around his wrists just enough, he could jump suddenly–before they had time to shoot him–and swim for it. #CleanWIP

I reset the stone, making sure to brush dirt back over the edges. Other servants kept their treasure tucked under their sleeping mats, but I #planned on hiding away things that would get me horsewhipped if found—arrows, a bow, and a hunting knife. #cleanWIP

Danger worked hard to match his master’s pace, which was clearly much slower than he would have liked. As they walked, Arthur whistled a soft, but clear tune. The pristine notes rose up into the night, and were absorbed away into the dark sky. #cleanWIP

#CleanWIP Nelwina thrust the curtains away and turned from the window. How she hated Lord Henry and his lady! Who did they think they were? He’d been a simple country knight, and she was a nobody. Well, she could bear strong sons. Four of them! But any peasant could do the same.

Here’s an excerpt from Laurean Brooks via our Facebook CleanWIP group. If you’re a writer who prefers the clean end of the writing spectrum, we’d love to hear from you as well.“My aunt invited me to move to Houston to live, but Papa would not allow it. He said the big city was no place for a decent young lady. I stayed mad at him for days. “Papa and Mama try to smother us. I’m sure it’s why Margie ran away. We’re not children. I turned eighteen in May, and Margie turned twenty in June. Don’t think running away hasn’t crossed my mind, too.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “But, if I do,, it won’t be to marry a virtual stranger.”

There’s no #CleanWIP theme on Fridays, but we still publish a fun author collaboration. Use the hashtag to share INTERESTING teases from a WIP or published work (book links encouraged on Fridays) or something else you believe our readers might love. [https://t.co/iCuPzhtLNK] pic.twitter.com/HarMv7feNJ

#FantasyFicFriday#CleanWIP “Even more important than one’s birth family is the family we gather throughout our lives, the family of our heart.” Mercy’s face glowed, and Joy couldn’t help but smile. “And, dear one, if we are blessed to marry a friend, then happy indeed are we.”

Arthur Daigle shares with us a short piece from William Bradshaw and Urban Problems: “Hello!” an echoing voice called out. It took Will a few seconds to spot a pit dug into the trail. It had been covered with a thin wood board coated with dirt, blending in perfectly until some unwitting person stepped on it and broke through. Whoever was trapped in the pit called out again, “Is anyone there?” “We hear you,” Will replied. He thought about who could be trapped in the pit, and then covered his face with his hand. “Excuse me, but are you the puppet person who came to warn us?” “Yes, that’s me,” the puppet person replied. He had an echoing voice, like he was speaking inside a box, but he still sounded friendly. “I don’t wish to be a bother, but I was wondering if you could lend a hand. This pit is proving a tad inconvenient.” “See, this is why I don’t like you guys making so many traps,” Will told the goblins. “We get an ambassador—” “President,” the puppet person corrected him from inside the pit. “A president comes to visit and he ends up in a pit!” Will shouted. “We either need to cut back on the traps or have someone around to keep them from catching innocent bystanders.” “It’s not like we killed the guy,” Mr. Niff protested. He leaned over the pit and asked, “You’re alive, right?” “Yes, thank you.” Exasperated, Will said, “Just help me get him out.”

Laurean Brooks shares from To Trust Her Heart. Amanda Wilcox marched through the door of Tyler Law Office, fuming. She’d wanted to look her best for the interview. But when she started across the street, a dark-haired man in a sporty convertible, sped by and splattered mud across her buttercream trench coat. How she’d love to give the inconsiderate bum a piece of her mind! The silver-haired receptionist welcomed Amanda and sent her directly to the attorney’s office. “Good afternoon, Miss…Wilcox, is it?” The attorney’s penetrating gray eyes raked her before he looked down at her resume’. Amanda’s breath caught when she recognized him a the man who had slung mud all over her. “Yes-s.” Should she reprimand him and thereby kill her chances of obtaining a position as his secretary? She needed this job. As a young widow, she was penniless. Her philandering dead husband–his body found in his mangled sports car along with that of his young secretary–had gambled away all their assets. She even stood to lose their home.

#CleanWIP Clint stood with Emily and sang, Bringing In The Sheaves. When the song ended, they sat. Pews scraped across the wood floor. Clemons, across the aisle, still leered at Emily. She squirmed and lowered her head. A man who proposed to three women, deserved no respect.

Walking down the gravel road, my memories filtered through the hourglass of time; I missed your sweet song. I passed the old mill stream; the ripple of the water brought it back to life. I stopped to hear you sing, one more time. #CleanWip

#CleanWIP (theme SONG)Then all eyes turned to Kieran. He cleared his throat and stood at his place.“I could think of nothing to give ye, my lady, so I thought I might sing ye a song instead. My own mother taught me this one. ’Tis one of my first memories o’ her.”#MercysGift

Right now I’m in my pajamas and my wonderful son is making a Christmas breakfast for me. I’m such a fortunate soul!⠀⠀This may have been a challenging year, but isn’t it good to be alive? I’m so happy to be loved. Life is truly good.⠀⠀I’ll be cook… https://t.co/kvUm3w6AJrpic.twitter.com/kmLe3b2N4h

In a small town; poverty and sickness ruled the day. This Christmas, there would be no #parade. The kids, decided to take matters into their own hands. They had a few old musical instruments. Something great occurred when they marched around the corner onto 34th St. #CleanWip

#CleanWIP By May, our money was gone. I did what any desperate mama would do. I paraded into the saloon, marched up to the bar, and banged my fist on it. “I need a job!” Ol’ Sam looked me up and down, rubbing his chin whiskers. ‘You’re a bit on the skinny side, but you’ll do.’”

I could feel the burn as the sun beat down unmercifully, but the band played on; the song didn’t fit the dream. I woke up; sunburned, I reached for the Aloe. I flipped on some music, and they were playing, “It’ Christmas in Dixie, Snowing in the Pines.” #MuseMon#CleanWip

#CleanWIP She dabbed at the tears. Things could be worse. If she’d arrived on time, she would be wearing that three-timing dentist’s wedding band. This would be her wedding night! Emily’s stomach knotted. She had not considered all the implications when she had replied to his ad.

Emily laid a calming hand on Clint’s clenched one. “I’m just saying—you know how some kids are. The more you try to control them, the more they rebel. I sense a rebellious streak in Alissia.” And from what Emily had seen, the girl had come by it honest. Not only from her mother, but from her brother. Her pa called it “a generous dose of stubborn.” Clint’s shoulders visibly relaxed. His stern tone was replaced by a gentler one. “What do you suggest?” Instinct told Emily, he would not be easily sold on any idea that threw his little sister in with a boy. But she had to try. “You could allow Alissia to go to the dance. According to her, the dance at Coopers’ barn is the main event of the year in Taylor County.” “Yes. It started as a festival to celebrate fall harvest. People come from miles around.” “And since it’s set for the first Saturday in October,” Emily added, “Alissia will almost be sixteen.” “Her birthday isn’t until the following week,” he muttered. She won’t be going with that Reilly kid as long as I have any say. If she does go to the dance, she’ll go with me. With us.” “Us?” Emily’s heart fluttered. Was he asking her for a date? Clint yanked off his hat and pressed it to his chest. “Will you go to Cooper’s Barn Dance with me, Miss Emily. Ma shouldn’t need constant care by then.” He whirled around and pointed to the buggy in the shed. “There’s plenty of room for the three of us.” Three of us? Emily’s joy dimmed. She’d thought it was a real date. Instead, they would be chaperones for his sister. She swallowed her disappointment. She would do it for Alissia’s sake. “Of course I’ll go.”Emily ventured another question. “Will we swing by to pick up Landon? We could make it a double date.” “That is not going to happen,” Clint groused. If he wants to go, he can meet us at the dance. I won’t forbid Landon to dance with my sister as long as they keep plenty of daylight between them.” He ducked his head and looked Emily in the eye. “I will be watching them. You can tell her that.” Emily flashed him a smile. She was sure Alissia already knew it.

To crank up this party, let’s visit a WIP of Scott R. Rezer: The Haberdasher’s Wife, expected to be released in the spring of 2020.

Josefa pulled harder on his hand. “I’m thinking there will be a much better gift waiting for me at the end of this hunt as a reward for bringing me out in this frigid cold. Am I right?”

“I guess that depends on your definition of a reward,” he said and sprinted past her as the falling snow began to thicken, laughing. Josefa squealed with delight and ran after him.

There’s no #CleanWIP theme on Fridays, but we still publish a fun author collaboration. Use the hashtag to share INTERESTING teases from a WIP or published work (book links encouraged on Fridays) or something else you believe our readers might love. [https://t.co/iCuPzhtLNK] pic.twitter.com/MR3PzOG9rK

#FantasyFicFriday “I helped you, Mama,” he said solemnly.“Yes, you did, love. Thank you.” Tears filled Mercy’s eyes. He was only four years old! And yet, Val had spoken to the dragons at the same young age. Could it be her sons had gifts far surpassing hers?#CleanWIP

My throat tightened. Should I pretend to remember and know things of myths and legends I’d never heard? No, I’d speak as little as I could and hopefully they didn’t kill me for impersonating divinity. #cleanWIP, #vss365

We encourage our frequent contributors to let loose on Fridays and share teases and news from both works-in-progress and published books. Here’s some fun from Journey to Forgiveness by Laurean Brooks. (A heartwarming, emotional romance.)

Jenny looked up and met the gaze of the luggage thief she’d encountered in Kankakee.

His cerulean blue eyes danced with mischief as he flashed his pearly, white teeth. “I never did get your name.”

“Get away from me!” she hissed.

He persisted. “Sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Do you think we could start over?”

“Over my dead body!” Jenny glanced toward the Ladies’ room. Where was her aunt when she needed her?

#CleanWIP (theme GIFT)“It will be interesting to see what gifts Val has and how they manifest themselves.”“Gifts? Do you think he has more than one?”“Nothing will surprise me.” Mercy took Joy’s hands and gently squeezed them. “He is his father’s son, after all.”

The canapes were done, and only needed to be arranged on platters, the gifts were wrapped and set artfully under the tree, and the dining tablecloths were neatly pressed and ready to go. Nothing to do but think for a little while. #CleanWIP

Did you know you can give most Kindle books available in the Kindle Store as a gift to anyone with an email address? Recipients can read their new Kindle book on any supported Amazon device or the Kindle reading app. A note in Amazon’s help area does state you’ll need a valid 1-Click payment method set up for your account. (Manage Your Content and Devices, select Settings, then click Edit Payment Method below Digital Payment Settings.)

Once you’re sure your 1-Click is set up, just select the book you’d like to send as a gift and on the product detail page, click the Buy for others button. Enter the email address of your gift recipient, a delivery date, and a message. When you’re sure of the other info, click Place your order.

If you’re unsure of the recipient’s email address, you can select Email the gift to me before placing your order so you can forward the gift email or print and personally deliver it. The recipient simply enters the gift claim code from the email, after logging in to their Amazon account.

With this in mind, and also because the owner of CleanWIP Magazine is an Amazon Associate who earns from qualifying purchases, we asked frequent CleanWIP Magazine contributors to suggest one of their books as a Kindle Stuffer to help our readers who might be struggling with gift ideas. (The snarky bits are our own attempts at levity.)

A Mermaid Under the Mistletoe by Jessica L. Elliott is perfect for the reader who enjoys romance with a little mystery and seems a great way to start off a Kindle stuffing spree. Loosely inspired by the fairy tale, The Little Mermaid, A Mermaid Under the Mistletoe takes a professional mermaid from Hawaii to Minneapolis where she meets a cynical insurance investigator, and a girl in need of a second chance. Heartwarming, fun, and with a beautiful message of hope and faith.

For those who like inspirational memoirs, Overcoming the Odds is Keith Guernsey’s amazing true story of triumphs over cancer, two rounds of life-threatening brain surgery and a battle with obesity! We hear it also makes a great Kindle Stuffer.

Arthur Daigle’s Goblin Stories is a collection of short stories that blend into a single cohesive story. It’s fun for all ages, with goblin related stupidity, craziness and traps big enough to catch armies. No Kindle stuffing would be complete without some goblins. You can be sure of that.

Even readers who prefer the clean end of the spectrum sometimes yearn to hear about the many scandals entangling the lives of others.In Laurean Brooks’ To Trust Her Heart, the scandal surrounding Amanda Wilkes’ husband’s death and the debt he leaves behind, forces her to seek employment. The bad marriage strengthens her resolve to remain single. Then one at her new boss, Attorney Jake Tyler, leaves Amanda confused. Dare she trust her heart again? Jake Tyler plans to raise his seven-year-old-son alone, following his wife’s death. But his resolve teeters at the sparks in Amanda’s green eyes. What lies behind his secretary’s cool facade, and why does she weep over sad love songs? Can he handle what he uncovers? An enemy crouches in Tyler Law Firm determined to destroy Amanda’s reputation and get her fired. Who is it and what lies behind this ploy?Well, that really is the million dollar question as they say. Stuff a friend’s Kindle with it and you’re sure to find out soon.

In Love Abideth Still: A Novel of the Civil War (Letters from War Book 1) by Scott R Rezer, we have a grieving widow, a country torn by civil war, and a handful of letters professing a husband’s love… Here at CleanWIP Magazine, this sounds like the recipe for a Kindle Stuffer if we’ve ever heard one. Five months after his death, the body of Sarah’s husband, a Union soldier, finally comes home for burial in Philadelphia. Taylor’s burial, though, rather than putting her unresolved grief to rest, begins a journey that will not just test her faith, but will plumb the depths of her devotion to her dead husband. Pushed to the edge of anger and despair, Sarah turns to the few letters sent to her by Taylor from the front lines in a desperate need to understand the guilt she feels over his death. From the bloody battlefields of Winchester and Bull Run to the quiet streets of Philadelphia, comes a tale of war and forgiveness—of a love rekindled from beyond the grave.

Christmas at Dumpster Corral by Irene Onorato is 100% Kindle stuffing material. When Noel Dupree’s estranged father undermines her recently deceased mother’s will, he takes away her childhood home and the florist business her mother left to her. Fate steps in when a blinding rainstorm causes her to miss a turn on the way to a friend’s house, leading her to an unlikely place, and an uncertain destiny.

You’ll definitely want to stuff a few Kindles with Second Chance in Summit County (Summit County Series Book 1) by Katherine Karrol.Her: “My marriage, career, and reputation just crashed around me and eliminated the little trust I had left in myself to make good decisions. I packed my bags, shook the dust off my feet, and started driving, begging God to tell me where to go. He brought me to a tiny, charming Northern Michigan town, where I’m recreating my life from scratch – without men.” Him: “My whole world turned upside down when I lost the love of my life and had to start over as a single father. I am now both mother and father to my little girl and have built my life around taking care of her and protecting my heart from ever being hurt like that again. Love is not a part of my life anymore.” God: “We’ll see about that.”

No Kindle stuffing is complete without at least one murder so we present Murder Under the Magnolias (Grace’s Augusta Mysteries Book 1) by Charmain Zimmerman Brackett.A major golf tournament in town makes for a busy social calendar for floral designer Grace Ward. When she discovers a body face up in the Savannah River, she wonders if there’s more than golf in town for the week.

Like a murderer maybe. But then, Grace might not know it was murder since probably no one told her the title of the book. It’s thoughts like these that beg to be pondered that have made so many short of time and scurrying for gift ideas in the first place. Guess it’s time we get busy stuffing Kindles.

At the job site, I approached; Grandpa. He had finished concrete for years. He smiled, “Jerome, do you know what this is?” He held up his trowel.I nodded my head.“Jerome, this isn’t what you think; it’s a tool of ignorance. You stay in school, or you will own one.”#CleanWip

#CleanWIP (theme TOOL)The men cheered Ronan’s speech. Nelwina couldn’t help but smile at his smooth words. He knew just how to hold these simple peasants in thrall and use them as tools to topple what little opposition remained in the Keep.

#CleanWIP Mrs. James’s glassy gaze swept over Emily. How long have I been asleep?”Emil slid a chair close to the bed and sat in it. “All morning.” When the woman eyed the door, she explained, “Clint ran in to get a fence-mending tool.”“I’ll bet those Javelins are at it again!”

#CleanWIP Clint toyed with whether or not Emily’s idea would work. “So, you think my easing up on Alissia and Landon, will help matters?”Emily replied, “Unless you want them to elope.”“Elope?” Clint’s eyes blazed. “Landon had better not try it, if he knows what’s good for him!”

Dad had a sly grin on his face, “Boy, I thought we’d go into town this morning and take care of a little monkey business.”That meant buying some new big boy toys. I poured a cup of coffee; Dad still hadn’t mastered the art; it would, however, wake you up. #Better2sday#CleanWip

#CleanWIP (theme TOY)Joy sat at the table in Mama’s sitting room with Val, watching her brother line up small wooden figures of knights on horseback. The child would occasionally lean his curly head down on the table and eye his handiwork. Joy hid a smile at how serious he was.

#CleanWIP (Theme CARD)She ran her finger over the harp, imagining sweet notes coming from it, before breaking the seal.My dearest lady, it began, making Nelwina smile despite herself. She knew Ronan didn’t really mean the words, but it stroked her ego just the same.

He stepped toward her. “He was by my car. I told him to leave and not come back, but…" Warren pulled a business card from his pocket. “He left this in the crack of my window.”#CleanWIP (theme CARD) #Iamwriting

#CleanWIP “If you see something you want at the store, let me know.” A beautiful young lady should have pretty things. He would love to buy Emily presents. Clint’s gaze slid over her dress. The dark color did not suit her and looked outdated. But what did he know about fashion?

#CleanWIP (theme PRESENT)Merry distracted the child with the dragon box and gave the drawstring bag to Valerian. “This is not nearly so magnificent.”“Whatever you give me, Merry, is the greatest treasure of all.”

“A #present from the Queen.” He unwrapped locks of curling red hair and a blood stained handkerchief. The messenger’s sneer widened. “The Queen offers a trade. A kingdom for a maiden. You’ve often said you don’t want the kingdom, and the maiden loves you.” #cleanWIP#vss365

Where was Austin? She’d seen him leave a minute ago. Something stirred inside the church bus. Jenny flattened her back against the metal building and inched closer for a better look. Her heart hitched when through the open bus door she spied Austin through the open door of the mission bus, kneeling before the strongbox. He reached into it, scooped up a stack of bills from the mission fund and counted them. He returned some of the money to the box, stuffing a larger roll into his shirt pocket. The metal lid slammed shut. Jenny fled back inside the the shelter, tears streaming, and her heart pounding against her ribcage. Tears streamed down her face. The man she loved was a thief!

There’s no #CleanWIP theme on Fridays, but we still publish a fun collaboration. Use the hashtag to share INTERESTING teases from a WIP or published work (book links encouraged on Fridays) or share something else CLEAN you feel our readers will love. [https://t.co/iCuPzhtLNK] pic.twitter.com/pf0c33AcDF

And yet, he kept coming, just to see it–the gravestone his daddy had sold one of his horses to buy–just to read the name “Fred Finley, Jr.” and wonder about life and death, and why things happened the way they did. #CleanWIP

Why must the clouds be so dark? Why must the times of life be so dreary in the winter? December of 1944 and it shouldn’t be so depressing; but it snowed. Roscoe the neighbor’s dog slinked past my window, seeking a sign of hope. I was much like Roscoe; I had no hope. #CleanWip

Let’s drop in on Will and Domo. (This time we’re visiting William Bradshaw and Fool’s Gold.) “This is a new level of weirdness even for you, Will,” Domo said.“I’m just gardening,” he replied. “Why does everybody act like I’m biting the heads off dolls?”“That’s something the guys would accept, even appreciate. This just plain doesn’t make sense. Why are you growing food when you get it for free?”Will leaned the hoe against the fence and wiped sweat off his brow. “I thought it would be a nice gesture to the innkeeper.”“I don’t follow you.”Will pulled his king contract out from his pocket. “My contract lets me eat free anywhere I go, but I always go to the same inn since it’s the only place nearby. The innkeeper feeds me three free meals a day, and it’s got to be costing him a bundle. It won’t be so hard on him if I grow some of my own food.”Domo stared at him. “Is this that ‘fairness’ thing you keep going on about?”“What’s wrong with thinking about other people?”Domo pointed his walking stick at Will. “You were taken off your world and tricked into being our King. You don’t get paid. Three quarters of the planet’s population hates you. You’ve almost been killed dozens of times. What’s fair about that?”“Nothing,” Will said. “But just because other people aren’t fair to me doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be fair to other people.”

@CleanWIP Emily decorated Alissia's burgundy dress by stitching white lace to the bodice. Small bustles were the fashion this year, allowing extra material for bows and such. Emily had chosen a color called Napoleon Blue. She hoped to have enough extra to make a drawstring purse

So we have an idea for a great fantasy novel—a time-traveling message in a bottle. Maybe it has been done; maybe it hasn’t. Nonetheless, we know a great idea when we think of one. Anyway… we asked authors if there is something they know now they wish they had known when they first started writing.

Arthur Daigle – I wish I’d known how much work went into marketing books that I’ve written. For me writing is fun and easy, and something I studied extensively in school. Marketing is new, difficult and surprisingly expensive. It staggers the mind how much money some advertising sites charge, while other sites are outright scams.

Jessica L. Elliott – I wish I’d known about beta readers. And really any of the steps to self-publishing. I jumped in without a clue. I’m glad I made the choice, but I really wish I’d learned more about the process before diving in.

Laurean Brooks – I wish I had known I had to market my own books. I was so green, I thought this was the publisher’s duty. That my part was holding book signings, selling my books to readers in my locale. And I was shocked to discover the author’s price for my own book could be as much as 2/3 the selling price after taking shipping into account. Also, it was a bummer to learn the author’s royalties are such a small percentage. When I was told my part would be 7 1/2 %, I became depressed. I remember telling my husband, “It’s a 92-1/2% / 7-1/2% contract.” He said, (thinking I meant MY part was the 92-1/2%) “That sounds fair enough.” Then I broke it to him and he yelled, “That’s a rip-off! I wouldn’t do it.” I explained this was typical royalties for a new author. “Besides, I have to write.”. Writing fills a need within my soul. When a reader or reviewer tells me they loved my book, I soar up, up, and away.

Scott R. Rezer – I wish I had known how much time I would need to spend on everything outside the actual writing of a novel. The writing is easy because I have always done a little here, a little there, an entire evening sometimes—but everything else is time-consuming. Designing my own book covers, editing, proofing, interior designing… MARKETING! All of them are BIG time consumers… and expensive. And frankly, after so many years, often not worth it. —Until I get a random response from a reader that makes all the difference and suddenly I remember that it’s about crafting a story people will enjoy long after they finish reading. Frankly, I spent so much time and energy on everything else that involves the actual publishing of a book, I spent little or no time anymore to write. I got into writing because I couldn’t imagine myself not writing—so that is where I am at in the process. If I sell a book great—and there are a lot of GREAT undiscovered authors out there so it’s hard to get noticed and followed in a world of readers increasingly shrinking—but if I don’t sell any books, that is good too. I once had an publisher interested in me, but only of I wrote on assignment. That’s just not for me or deadlines and headaches. So… I wish I had known how much time I would have to spend so I could have just skipped ahead to where I am now and just enjoyed writing once more, and let the chips fall where they may!!

“Unless we form the habit of going to the Bible in bright moments as well as in trouble, we cannot fully respond to its consolations because we lack equilibrium between light and darkness.” ~ Helen Keller

Predawn light stole softly over the sky, a tinge of pinkish red illuminating the mountains above the city. The inhabitants, comfortable in their sleep, did not stir, for the sun had not yet shown his head and most of the sky was still blue with the dark beauty of night. #1linewed

#CleanWIP Emily basked in the beauty of art glass windows. Diffused light splayed a rainbow of colors across the pew she and Clint occupied.A shadow crossed her face when someone slipped into the pew behind her. A finger tapped her shoulder. “You’re still in town?” Emily froze.

How had I become the center of a myth? Should I point out that if I’d forgotten everything then I wouldn’t remember my hands being poisoned? A fatal fallacy to bring to #light. “I don’t yet.” #cleanWIP

#CleanWIP (theme LIGHT)Dolan sat at the high table, resplendent in gold and purple. The amethysts in his crown sparkled in the light of candles and torches. Nelwina’s heart thumped painfully. The young king was very pleasant to look upon.

There, near the tree’s base, was a beautiful, elongate, fox-like animal. It was bright green, with a cream underbelly. It was a sleek and lovely creature, and it struggled mightily against the vines it had become caught in, looking at him in genuine fear. #CleanWIP#fantasy

A shrike’s song cut the air. Another shrike answered the evening call. The two battled their voices in an intricate weaving of notes. As darkness closed over the last band of ground, then climbed the shrikes’ #tree, they sang fiercer, challenging night’s encroachment. #cleanWIP

A fog had rolled in during the wee hours of the morning, and, while it was quickly fading in the strengthening sunlight, it still billowed softly around the landscape, giving the churchyard, the church, and the trees beyond an other-worldly feel that made Louis shudder #CleanWIP.

It was a brown Thanksgiving. Here and there a tree still sported various shades of orange, but most of them had surrendered their leaves and now looked like strange works of modern art, their bare limbs stretching out every which-way against the slowly brightening sky.#CleanWIP

#CleanWip “Well, here you are, Miss Hammons. Delivered safe and sound.” Clint walked around to help Emily down from the wagon. As his strong hands encircled her waist. a young man astride a black stallion, slipped out from behind the barn and disappeared into a grove of trees.

“No traveler, whether a tree lover or not, will ever forget his first walk in a sugar-pine forest. The majestic crowns approaching one another make a glorious canopy, through the feathery arches of which the sunbeams pour, silvering the needles and gilding the stately columns and the ground into a scene of enchantment.” ~ John Muir

The family asked me to do the eulogy for my lifelong friend. I feared I’d break down. I made it to the end; I turned to his shadow, draped coffin, “Sundance, may you fish in heavenly blue waters and hunt in the forest of green.”

In less time than it took for tears to dry, a cluster of women and children stepped into the shade of the trees, followed by mules carrying supplies. The soft floor and woody walls of the #forest absorbed muffled crying. Most left behind a father, husband, or brother. #cleanWIP

#CleanWIP (Theme FOREST)They came upon an unfamiliar forest path. How long had they been riding? The exhausted horse heaved, and Nelwina felt an unaccustomed twinge of guilt for misusing the poor animal.

#CleanWIP He’d nearly reached them. He dropped down below the #forest canopy, torn between making a suitably discreet approach and terror that the witch might be in the very act of cutting out Yuliya’s heartroot.

@CleanWIP Emily took Clint’s hand. Blessing the food was a tradition at her house while Mama was alive, but flew out the window after she died. Roy never mentioned praying at meals and neither did she. It would only serve to remind them of the empty chair around their the table.

“You’re up early,” Domo said to Will. “Blame Vial. The boys said you had some mail for me?” Domo held up the stack of letters. “I was just finishing with it. Let’s see…hate mail, hate mail, you may already be a winner, death threats. The University of Eastwich granted you an honorary expulsion. You got an anti-invitation from Kervol Ket.” Will stopped in front of Domo. “I know I’m going to regret asking, but what’s that?” “You know how good old Kervol got married?” Domo asked. “He married Princess Marisa Brandywine?” Will didn’t try to hide his surprise. He’d once held the princess prisoner. He didn’t want her, and his attempts to return her to Kervol had been rebuffed. Brandywine was the most annoying person Will had ever met, which considering he was surrounded by thousands of goblins was saying something. It amazed him that someone even as stupid as Kervol would marry her. “Shocking, I know,” Domo said. “Anyway, the lady’s expecting their first child, and Kervol sent out invitations to celebrate the birth. He sent you an anti-invitation. You’re not supposed to attend the festivities, and the only gift he’d like is to hear you died in a horrible accident involving a potato peeler. Basically he’s rubbing it in your face that you’re a social pariah.” “Charming.”

There’s no #CleanWIP theme on Fridays, but we still publish a fun author collaboration. Use the hashtag to share INTERESTING teases from a WIP or published work (book links encouraged on Fridays) or something else you believe our readers might love. [https://t.co/iCuPzhtLNK] pic.twitter.com/tAEg8VBszv

Tired of the “gotta build my social media numbers” mindset that has infiltrated the #wrtingcommunity. Let me (possibly) be the first to tell you: social media #’s won’t sell books. Personal connections will. I should know. I’ve lived it.🤦‍♀️😄#writerslife#YouGotThis#powerup

The sudden cry of a woman in travail rent the stillness of the air. At the sound, Noach tensed and stood uncertainly, turning towards the tents of their small settlement. The waiting had grown agonizingly long; the birth of children often did so—especially with firstborns. His nerves frayed with the waiting, his body as taut as a drawn bowstring. Death was too often an unwelcome shadow at the miracle of birth. Soon, he thought. It will be very soon now. —And then what, old man, whispered the voice of his own nagging doubts. This one will be born, and then there will be others. Men will multiply upon the earth. In time, there will once more be rebellion and bloodshed and wars. Sin will have its due. “No,” he breathed vehemently. “There will be peace and harmony at last in the earth.” It was a familiar argument he had often waged against himself in the past nine months. The outcome was always the same. —Is that what you think? Have you learned nothing? Men are incapable of such nobility: only of evil and more evil. “This time it will be different—it must be,” he said. His hands balled into fists at his side. “The errors of the old world cannot be repeated. They cannot; they will not.” —Oh, but they will, his own malevolent thoughts whispered, mocking him with laughter. Open your eyes, fool, and look around you. The errors of the lost world are but beginning anew. Death hovers, eager to devour the sinful. Watch; and wait. Listen for the cry of this child for which you await so desperately. It will be the lustful cry of sin being reborn into the world. And there is none born of men who can ever change it. “Of men… no,” Noach whispered, smiling, remembering another, far older, promise. “But of a woman…”

For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first:Then we which are alive [and] remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.Wherefore comfort one another with these words.

Long version: We’re playing hashtag games to find authors who prefer the clean end of the spectrum & highlight their teasers for readers who love them. So let’s see your clean “AIR QUOTES.” pic.twitter.com/zVqnWm8NCe

Looking for the first buds of spring, I’d done it again, same as last year; my signal that winter would soon end. The cold morning air began to give way to warmth. It’s when you don’t know whether to wear a long sleeve or short sleeve. Life is so confusing. #Thurds#CleanWip

#CleanWIP Merchants moved their goods off the boardwalk, closing up shop. On cue, the White Elephant saloon burst to life. Tinny piano music and raucous laughter spilled through its batwing doors. Wolf whistles from unkempt men pierced the air. They leered at Emily. She cringed.

He was shoved unceremoniously into the backseat of the Fiat, and the dark-eyed man and the redhead crowded in beside him. A mixture of pungent cologne and cigarette smoke filled the air inside the car. #CleanWIP

There is a strong tendency among readers to want to stay in the story once they begin reading. Writers tend to want the readers to stay there as well. After all, if readers put a book down, there’s no guarantee they’ll ever return to reading it, enjoy it to the utmost, and leave a glowing five-star review.

Let’s consider for a moment things that might cause a reader to stop reading. There are things writers can’t do anything about—a hungry pet or child begging the reader’s attention comes to mind as does a spouse who urgently needs to know how to operate a computer or cell phone. Perhaps a police chase comes to an end in the reader’s yard and a shootout commences. But there are also distractions an author can easily avoid through research. Authors of historical fiction, for example, choosing to describe a library of 1869 in great detail might not want to mention Melvil Dewey’s classification system. Most readers might skim past the error without concern, but readers who know his system was first published in 1876, might head over to their favorite social network to start a boycott or petition.

Obviously, we’re trying to be funny here. Or maybe it wasn’t obvious. Either way, the point is that most authors research, even if only briefly and even if they’re writing fiction, to help make their stories enjoyable, interesting, and believable—and to avoid losing readers to glaring errors. Lying is tolerated quite well in fiction—errors not so much.

So we asked authors “What is something you needed to research because of your writing that you had never given much thought before?”

Margaret Skea – I had to research 16th century amputation techniques, the best instruments to use, how to stop the bleeding and about tying off blood vessels etc.

M. L. Farb – I researched animal senses for a shape-shifting character. This was my favorite fact: “Eagles have the ability to see colors more vividly than humans can. They can even see ultraviolet light and pick out more shades of one color. Their ability to even see the UV light allows them to see the bodily traces left by their prey. Mice’s and other small prey’s urine is visible to the eagles in the ultraviolet range, making them easy targets even a few hundred feet above the ground.”

Laurean Brooks – I had always wanted to write Westerns, but the idea of the extensive research involved held me back. I wanted the descriptions of everything from buckboards, dress, to ranch living, make the story authentic.My first book was set in the Abilene, Texas-Buffalo Gap area. Browsing led me a library in Abilene. Calling got me connected to a man who worked in the basement. Dennis Miller was there to answer historical questions about Taylor County, Texas We corresponded for a couple of months. In that time I was given rich accounts of historical events in Taylor County Texas in 1883, plus a list of the businesses in Abilene and Buffalo Gap. Dennis Miller’s eagerness to help encouraged me. When my book was published, I wanted to thank him for the trouble he’d put into researching. But lo, and behold, Mr. Miller had retired, and the library would not give me his contact information. I’m now on my second Abilene setting, and wish I could ask Dennis Miller tons of question. Thank you, Mr. Dennis Miller, in case you happen to read this.

Scott R. Rezer – Are you kidding?! Every book I write, I end up researching the most diverse, amazing, and odd things—things I never thought I’d research! For my current WIP, The Haberdasher’s Wife (Spring 2020), in addition to learning a thing or two about womens’ fashion in 1800 Germany (I always wanted to know that!), I researched a house still standing in Überlingen, Germany once owned by the noble family of my main character who also happens to be my 6th great grandmother! I was amazed to actually find a few pictures of the house (now a clothing boutique) to recreate a realistic setting.

Irene Onorato – The main male character in More Than a Soldier was wounded in an RPG attack. As a result, he lost an eye and the hearing in one ear. I had to research all sorts of interesting things about ocular prosthesis (artificial or “glass” eyes) and single-sided hearing loss. Also, to fully understand my soldier, I had to study PTSD and survivor’s guilt. Admittedly, I did a lot of crying while researching and writing the story. I came away from the project with more understanding, pride, and gratitude for the men and women who serve in our armed forces. And here I go, getting teary-eyed all over again…

Jessica Marie Holt – I was surprised by the rabbit hole of unusual details that was the Victorian era. It started off innocently enough, with general questions like, what were the funeral and mourning customs? How did day-to-day life change after the war? What were the travel options? What was the culture like at the time? But then, because I love incorporating lots of authentic details, it quickly spiraled out of control, for four reasons: 1) The nineteenth century was an era of complex customs, formalities and social interactions, which were rigidly followed, and learning them was a challenge 2) It was a time of rapid change, and details differed from decade to decade, so I had to specifically research the 1870s 3) The Victorian culture in, say, uptight London, was very different than it was in laid-back rural North Carolina, which is where my books take place, so it was harder to find information that applied to my specific setting 4) Everything about Victorian fashion and home décor was ornate and highly detailed. So, fast forward a little, and you have me banging my head on the computer screen as I try to figure out what year crepe myrtles were brought to North Carolina, what fabrics were in bustles, where people kept matches for their bedside lanterns so they didn’t fumble around for them in the dark (surprise! in special containers attached to the wall), whether water pumps were common in rural areas, and whether the trend of having an entire bird on one’s hat started before 1871 or after. Fortunately, each book gets easier, as you learn enough to write comfortably about the era, and you don’t have to stop to research as much! And don’t get me started on drafting procedures for the Civil War, or war injuries severe enough to get you sent home, but not so severe that they kill you! It’s a finer line than you think—they’d patch you up and keep you fighting if they could get any use out of you at all.

Jessica L. Elliott – A couple of things actually. In Holly and Mister Ivy, Holly is a dog who also is trained as a matchmaker. I wanted her to be red setter mix (because setters are gorgeous) with blue eyes. I then had to do some quick research to see if this was even genetically possible. Turns out with the right breeds, it could be. Then for my most recent book, Of Bows and Cinnamon, the female lead Elena announced to me that she was a breast cancer survivor. While I’d already known that younger women can and do develop breast cancer, the research stage was heartbreaking as I learned just how high those mortality rates are. Doing that research made me cry more than once, but it also made Elena’s character richer as I understood more clearly her fears and reservations.

Arthur Daigle – I do a sort of reverse research for my books. I have bizarre reading and TV viewing habits, where I read strange history and biology books and watch lots of history and science shows. When I see something that interests me, I add it into one of my stories.

Charmain Zimmerman Brackett – I have one of those google histories that you hope no one ever reads. I spend a lot of time researching, not only for my novels, but for the newspaper articles I write in my day job. Some of my newspaper research is tons of fun. I write arts and entertainment stories. I spend a lot of time watching YouTube videos of performers who I will be interviewing. It’s great to get paid to watch comedians and singers. For my novels, the research has been grimmer at times. Some of my more gruesome searches have included – what’s involved in cleaning up the scene of a violent death; what happens when you are shot; what type of gunshot could you receive and still live—fun stuff like that. I never covered crime in my 30 years at the newspaper I write for so those subjects were things I never wanted to think about.

White clay buildings lined the wide street. Only their solid structure could keep the buildings there in the flow of humanity. Men, women, children and animals all pressed to occupy the same space. #cleanWIP (space)

#CleanWIP (theme SPACE)“I have just realized there is no way I can make everyone happy, is there?”Kieran slowly shook his head. “Nay, Sire.”Dolan buried his face in his hands, and Kieran backed away, giving him space to grieve the burdens of ruling a kingdom.

She thought that over. Thirty minutes round-trip in a cramped space with a handsome man whose cologne befuddled her from two feet away in a hayfield. While Gordon MacRae sang love songs in the background.#cleanwip#ACountryMile

@CleanWIP Lanterns lit the barn’s interior. Chairs placed around three walls allowed the fourth wall for tables to hold the food. The floor had been cleared to allow space for dancing. The violinist seemed immuned to the noise as he closed his eyes and played a sweet ballad.

I dropped Earl off at his work; I thanked him repeatedly for his help.“Jerome, I’m glad I could assist. I’m still concerned about your Dad’s death.”I picked up on it, “What do you mean?”Earl stared off into space, “It doesn’t feel right,” he turned and walked away. #CleanWip

“Neither a wise man nor a brave man lies down on the tracks of history to wait for the train of the future to run over him.” ~ Dwight D. Eisenhower

tl; dr: #CleanWIP theme for Tuesday, December 3 is RAIL (any type of rail or perhaps trains and such with assumed rails)Long version: We’re playing hashtag games to find authors who prefer the clean end of the spectrum and highlight their teasers for readers who love them. pic.twitter.com/zlw06l7Ico

#CleanWIP “Miss Hammons, I hope your trip was tolerable. Riding the rails can be uncomfortable. The train’s rocking sometimes makes you wonder if it wil tip over.”“That didn’t bother me as much as the soot blowing through the window, on my clothes. But, it couldn’t be helped. “

“I feel so helpless, sitting here when I should be there, at Gertuk with Jartz.” He shot a look at Sparks, wishing he had a saddle dragon so he could just fly there.Instead they would have to walk to Gertuk, charter a boat, then travel another day by rail.#CleanWIP#DragonSparks

In the locker room, before the game, Coach ranted and raved about the 3rd rail of football. We looked at each other; we didn’t have a clue. We ran out on the field to discover this wasn’t a “Meet &. Greet.” We were run out of town by the Buffalo Steamrollers. #CleanWip

There was something cinematic about the way the fluorescent lights flickered, and the doors whooshed open, and the people crowded in, and everyone swayed in unison as the car rocked on the rails. #CleanWIP

Do you ever wonder how your personality developed? Why you have some of the beliefs you have? What makes you so rigid in thought and deed? What makes you a softy with a big heart? I certainly do. I often wonder how I came to write the books I do. But, really, I do know where it comes from. My past, my childhood, and events that changed my life forever. I understand what shaped me into the person and writer I am. We all have a story and I want to share one of mine. Got your coffee?

My father. In my eyes, he stood seven feet tall, with curly black hair & piercing blue eyes. I feared him when I was small. He had the look of a pirate. He was fierce, unyielding. My child eyes saw him larger than life, but he was just 5 feet 11. As I look back on it now, I realize certain things are magnified in childhood. I did have the inflexible part correct, though.

I’m talking about this today because my husband and I went to see the movie Midway about a week ago. I highly recommend it. The movie opened with the attack on Pearl Harbor. I was thrown into an emotional upheaval. Tears streamed down my face during the 1st quarter of that movie. Why? My father was on the U.S.S. Raleigh during the attack. He survived it, but I really don’t know how he did.

He was a gunners mate. He was 17. His mother had to sign him into the Navy because he wasn’t of age. But that’s not all. When they arrived at the recruiter’s office they turned him down because his last name didn’t match what was on his Social Security Card. His mom stood beside him. He questioned her. She had to admit to him the father who raised him was not his real father. Think of how that made him reel in shock. He was never formally adopted by his step-father. She thought she got away with changing his name.

Long story short, they fixed the problem and my dad entered the Navy, but never resolved the issue with his paternity. Then, Pearl Harbor happened. I grew up hearing the horror stories of that day over and over again. I truly believe the war and my dad’s confusion over his identity changed him forever. This was back in the day before anyone knew or understood what PTSD was. He stayed in the Navy for 6 years. Married while in the service and started a family. I was second born. The war was long over. But a lifetime of pain festered in my dad all his life, spilling over on me and my siblings. Now, some of them have different memories of our childhood. I can’t speak for them, all I can do is share the pain I suffered as a result of my dad being bombed at Pearl Harbor.

Second born, I remained the runt of the litter of four siblings and the youngest girl.

By the time dad left the Navy, he’d tired of the water, the ocean. So he retreated to the mountains. Backpacking in particular. I was tiny and a little sickly, but a twenty-pound backpack rested on my skinny shoulders, anyway. He told me it was good for my health. Maybe it was, cause here I am healthy and happy. My father led the troop of six with a swagger up the mountain trail. The only thing missing was the eye-patch and cutlass. Seven long miles up hill. Dad’s version of summer vacation. I hated every minute of it. Mt. Rainier was cold, slippery, and forbidding.

But up we went.

The trail was treacherous. We walked along the edge of the switchback mountain. One slip and you could go over the edge. No one spoke. We held our place in line. Seven and a half miles we marched.

We didn’t complain, didn’t let tears come to the surface, we knew it was useless.

There’s no crying in camping.

I remember the hollow vacuum in the pit of my stomach, the raw emotion searching for a place to go. Instead, agony and despair found the entrance to the black hole and disappeared inside. Nothing existed now except determination to focus on the trail, and the weight on my back.

Long ago I learned not to ask why father ran the family like a military operation. Mother was no help, she stayed in survival mode; her own. Father remained an enigma – his Navy experience at Pearl Harbor forever changed him.

It’s painful to look back at my eight-year-old self and realize, in that short time, I’d developed a sophisticated method of survival. Alone within a family of six, the only thing TO do was endure.

Eventually, we arrived at the lake tired, hungry. The trip had ended. Tents to erect, fires to build; no one eats until camp is set up. My job was to hold the tent pole while dad pounded the stakes into the ground.

Weariness and hunger took their toll on my undersized body, and I let the pole lean too far to the right.

“Hold that pole!” he yelled. It’s a memory I will never forget. He didn’t care about my tired body, only that stupid pole.

Father stopped the hammer in midair when the smell of pancakes drifted into our range. Darkness fell, and father delivered the last blow to the plastic spike. “Time to eat,” he announced.

Grateful for the warm fire my brothers assembled, we surrounded the flames and ate in silence. The pancakes tasted like Thanksgiving dinner. Tomorrow – a raft to build, and fish to catch and clean. Mother cooked, my sister cleaned the trout, and the rest of us took our watch at the fishing poles.

Father taught us to brandish a pole, and fortunately for me, I’d learned my lesson well. I could cast like a pro and usually brought in as much as my dad. But time enough to worry about fish tomorrow. His orders sent us scrambling to our tents and a night’s sleep on the cold, hard ground.

Finally, in the dark camp, I snuggled into the warm, downy sleeping bag, and drifted off into my dream world. Disney Land, a cruise, perhaps, or a road trip to grandma’s farm. Riding horses, swimming in the lake, carefree and joyful. Anything but this.

I’m not sure what time I woke up, but the sound of the crackling fire alarmed me. I saw the shadow of a man at the tall flames through the tent canvass. Still numb from sleep, I couldn’t tell who it was. I crawled out of my cocoon and inched on my stomach to the door of the tent to peek through the hole at the zippered entryway.

Father!

The fire raged high, and I could feel the heat from inside the tent.

Why isn’t he asleep? He must be exhausted.

He sat down on a stump near the fire and cupped a steaming tin cup with both hands.

I watched him. He looked sad, forlorn, and tortured. The shadows danced across his face in the firelight. This candid look at my father stirred something deep within the neglected regions of my hardened heart.

Why is he so sad? He loves camping . . .

I had a sudden shot of courage. I put my shoes and jacket on, unzipped the tent, and ventured out.

He looked surprised, and then a miracle happened. He smiled.

“What’s the matter, girl? Can’t sleep?” he asked.

I…I heard the fire roar. I guess it woke me. What are you doing up?”

“Someone’s got to make sure the fire stays lit. The flames keep the animals away, AND mother needs it to cook breakfast in the morning. Won’t do to have a cold breakfast to start our first day of fishing. It gets breezy on the lake.”

I looked at him square in the face for the first time. “Oh, I guess I never thought about it.”

He reached for the pot and mixed the dry powder mix into the tin cup, all the while, shooting glances at me and smiling. “Here ya go. That’ll warm you up. No, not coffee. I like cocoa, too.”

I was stunned. Dad drinks cocoa. I thought he’d be too tough for anything but coffee.

We fell into silence, staring at the fire, and sipping our hot liquid. The cocoa warmed more than my body. Something akin to life filtered into my long forsaken heart.

“So, how do you like it out here in the wilderness in the middle of the night? Peaceful isn’t it,” he said.

“It’s different, but yeah, I guess it is peaceful.”

“You can smile. I won’t bite you.”

I looked at him and forced my lips to curve into a smile. When he grinned back, my lips parted and a full-blown laugh exploded from my body. It felt good.

“That’s more like it. I wondered which of my kids would be the first.”

“The first what?”

“The first to want to get to know me.”

So many things impact our lives. For me, it was my dad. For better or not, he is still the main character in my childhood. Was he a model dad after that? No way. I continued to have a love/hate relationship with him. Well, maybe not hate, but surely fear.

It wasn’t until I was grown & had kids of my own that I decided to know him better. We lived states away by this time. I called, asked him why he raised us so coldly. His answer reminded me of the time camping when I saw into the window of his pain. We talked about his own childhood and how the pain of never knowing his real father affected him. We cried, laughed, cried some more.

I had my dad for 2 more years and then his heart gave out. He was gone. The last time I saw him, he hugged me so tight before we left their house. He didn’t want to let me go. The first real affection I got from him. 6 months later he was gone.

That was 25 years ago and I still cry at movies about Pearl Harbor, trying to put myself in his shoes, trying to understand the emotional pain he must have endured his whole life. Betrayed by his mother, shoved into war. How could it not affect him and then affect me? I have 2 beautiful memories to hang on to. My eight year old self having cocoa by the fire and my adult self, savoring that long awaited hug.

I always put something of myself into the books I write. In my book That One Moment, I take my character to the mountains of a survival camp after a devastating break up. I draw from my experiences in the mountains to give a sense of reality to the scenes. All my books are on Amazon and you can see them on my website, www.pattywiseman.com.

I’ve enjoyed talking with you today. I hope this gives you a little insight into my soul. Remember, someone said, it’s not how you start, it’s how you finish. Don’t let the past rob you. Use those experiences to shape the life you want. I never understood all the facets of my father’s complex personality, but I can use my experiences with him to understand me.

We took Aunt Melinda’s golf cart and crossed the road to check the progress of my new house. “What do you think?”“Fud, it looks so small.” I smiled, “Pele, when you lay a home out on the ground, it looks small, but it will grow,” I saw his, wait- and- see attitude. #CleanWip

She almost forgot to watch for Harmony’s car to start. Almost turned down the wrong road on her way to Blinky’s. Almost turned her truck around and went home instead of parking. How had Grace figured out…#CleanWIp

#CleanWIP Emily focused on the road before them. Clint was surprised at her anger at learning Clemons had proposed to three different women. One might think she was personally involved. Emily had met Jessica on the train, and it was her sister who fled the church. Still…

I grasped the top of the wall and rolled on top. A long road led through the just-green fields of winter wheat. I shivered uncontrollably. I had to find warmer clothes, or at least shelter from the cold.Men opened the gate and sent the hounds bounding.#cleanWIP (road)

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only seconds, the man turned his attention back toward the road and drove off, leaving Arthur rattled and breathless on the sidewalk. The only thing he could think about was his unbolted door. #CleanWIp

Earl Chinnici ~ Her phone streamed to a large screen in the studio providing us with a clear view of her right shoulder and part of the rear window. We watched as she veered left, apparently to miss a dark-blue sedan that was entering the highway. She then pushed hard on the accelerator and swerved back to the right, the distance separating her vehicle from the sedan increasing far too quickly.“Hi Rita. This is Rachel of the Write Connections morning show. I’m here with Jenny Foster, author of…” ~ https://twitter.com/earlshelpdesk/status/1201516544024567808

Margaret’s father made an announcement that drew a collective gasp from the table: he and Margaret’s mother would be selling the home they had lived in for sixty years and buying an RV. Margaret’s mother made a counter-announcement: no such thing would be happening. #CleanWIP

In a greasy spoon, I overheard two guys talking about this island. I didn’t hear everything, but one said, “It’s an uninhabited island east of Turks and Caicos, a perfect place to pull a Robinson Crusoe if you could get there.”

Coming Soon

We work closely with published authors and writers who are aspiring to be published as well as other creative people such as artists, poets, and songwriters in our CleanWIP Facebook group for authors (et al) and via the #CleanWIP hashtag game to bring readers interesting collaborative sneak peeks into their works-in-progress, full-featured articles, and also personal reflections on the thoughts and struggles from a rough draft to a published work.

Legalities / Formalities

Earl Chinnici, owner and operator of CleanWIP Magazine, is an Amazon Associate who earns from qualifying purchases. Affiliate links are often used here.

Some materials on this site are submitted by others. Earl Chinnici and CleanWIP Magazine do not necessarily share the opinions of these other writers and they do not necessarily endorse this site. Some may also write material which is not suitable for all ages. Please use discretion when following links.

We encourage authors to use the #CleanWIP hashtag to share sneak peeks related to the day’s theme from unpublished works. We also encourage use of the hashtag for a single relevant release day announcement. On Fridays, we relax the structure even further and encourage using #CleanWIP to share relevant news, interesting teases from a work-in-progress or published work (purchase links encouraged on Fridays), or something else our readers might love. Actual use of the hashtag is not within our control and even on this site we will sometimes share #CleanWIP content that doesn’t strictly meet these guidelines.